days of stone

Tag: beauty

  • I’ll not tread lightly

    I’ll not tread lightly

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Remember school days and how we would play like there was no tomorrow? Now the castles we made are the price we must pay or flounder in oceans of sorrow. Roaming wild and free, building houses in trees as worlds waltzed to discordant tunes– like a zephyr through grass, gilded summer days passed, left us…

  • En Passant

    En Passant

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    It wasn’t a spectacular leaf: rather drab, too long from tree. Yet, the life it clutched in its five trembling points turned my strides into steps into stasis. I watched as it danced, sucking more from a gust than nearby leaves better suited to flying. It spiraled away to a lazuline sky while I remained…

  • The Sculptor

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    On Sunset Strip the lights have dimmed And silent now their siren’s call. A fading starlet’s eyes are brimmed With tears–one more forgotten thrall Who keeps her locks of platinum trimmed, Awaits her call to glory, Lays bare her soul to cheat decay And rewrite her life’s story. He sculpts her in immortal clay, In…

  • Old Photograph

    Old Photograph

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    In the photo I keep in my wallet you’re smiling. No hint of ghosts in the glint of your eye. You’re sitting on a riverbank weaving a daisy chain I wore until it crumbled– linking flower to flower with the unblemished certainty that beauty and vows are forever. Ryan Stone

  • My Love

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    -blazon after Woloch My love with her chocolate river of tresses, Her slow-flowing curls, polished mahogany. My love with her lips of tequila sunrise With her milky-skinned sin, spreading wildfire blush. My love with her hummingbird voice Her windswept dune song, her soul strumming hum My love with her eyes of moonstone and twilight, Her…

  • Dog Days

    Dog Days

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    There’s a lot going on in the world today. My TV stays off for sanity’s sake. Another school. Child. Innocent. Betrayal. And fear, like a flag hanging over it all. When sorrow engulfs me, I almost feel guilty– how does an old paw print eclipse any of that? But my sphere spins slowly, the breeze…

  • Saudade

    Saudade

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

  • Dreamer

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Each night feathered wings gift wild flight— a slip from chains, set free to trip and roam, ’til dawn’s siren call home. Ryan Stone

  • Dying Light

    Dying Light

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    From my porch I watch thunderheads battering high noon into bruised twilight. I see you climb from under eaves, awakened by a pressure change. As the storm inhales you leap and spin, leap and spin your web — knowing your time to build is fleeting. Ryan Stone

  • Mother’s Hands

    Mother’s Hands

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    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Advertisement for Myers Gloves, by Margaret Watkins (Canada), 1920s. Mother’s Hands Strong enough to lift me each time I couldn’t rise. Soft as cotton wool, washing dirt from scrapes and tears from eyes. Firm enough to model clay and boys, to bowls and men, yet fine when stroking ivory keys– Für Elise and Clair de…